0373401965 (R)

by Lara Lacombe

  Grant’s patience stretched to the breaking point and he took a deep breath. “Can we have this conversation inside, please? You don’t need to be out in this weather.”

  Avery narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine. And while I appreciate your concern, I am not a porcelain doll that needs to be coddled and protected. I am a grown woman who can take care of herself.”

  Grant held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, have it your way. I just thought it would be nicer if we argued someplace warm. But if you’re happy standing out in the cold, so am I.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her, willing himself not to shiver. If she wanted to stand out in the cold, then that was what they’d do. He wasn’t about to let her win this one, even if it meant risking exposure.

  The look she shot him was pure annoyance. “I’m fine with going inside. But don’t think you’re going to leave me there while you run off to chase the bad guys.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said dryly.

  He ushered her inside the closest building, gritting his teeth when he realized they were right outside the cafeteria. There was a steady stream of people entering in search of breakfast and just as many leaving to face the day, cardboard coffee cups in hand. He couldn’t have picked a worse location to have a private talk, so Grant grabbed Avery’s hand and led her past the entrance and down the hall. He stopped at the small nook that led to the back door of the kitchens—there would be no traffic here, and the thick metal door should muffle their conversation. Even if they were overheard, the workers in the kitchen were too busy with the breakfast rush to eavesdrop, so this was his best option.

  “Talk.”

  Avery blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You wanted to talk to me. So talk.” He knew he was being short with her, but he was too wound up to care.

  If she noticed his tone, she didn’t show it. “We need a plan.”

  “I have a plan. You just don’t like it.”

  She arched one eyebrow, silently communicating her exasperation. “Do you honestly think roughing up Paul Coleson is going to solve anything?” He opened his mouth to respond, but Avery held up her hand, stalling his reply. “Think, Grant! You’re a smart guy. We don’t actually have any evidence, remember? Just speculation and conjecture. If you go in there and start hitting the man, he’s going to shut down. There’s no way you’ll get the truth from him that way.”

  As much as it pained him to admit it, Avery was right. Punching Paul Coleson would give him immediate satisfaction, but it wouldn’t help them solve the larger mystery—why had he done this, and was he working alone? “What did you have in mind?”

  “For starters, is there any kind of security force on-base that can apprehend Paul and Jesse?”

  Grant shook his head. “No. It’s such a small community, there’s only one US Marshal posted here. Crime has never been an issue. Until now.”

  “Oh.” She deflated a little. “I was hoping someone else could arrest them so you don’t have to put yourself in danger.”

  Her concern for his safety warmed his heart, and he reached out to touch her arm. “I’ll be okay,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure the one officer on-base goes with me.”

  She harrumphed at that but didn’t press the issue. “I think we should talk to Paul first before we try to arrest him.”

  Grant’s first instinct was to reject her proposal. His emotions demanded he take action to avenge Avery’s near-death, and since he wasn’t going to be able to beat the man, the least he could do was see him thrown into the jail on-base. “I’m not interested in talking to him right now.”

  Avery took a step closer, practically vibrating with urgency. “I’m not saying you have to let him get away with what he’s done. But we need more information if we want to convince people the outbreaks were deliberate. If we go to Paul’s lab and talk to him, he might let something incriminating slip.”

  “It’s possible,” Grant allowed.

  “And,” Avery continued, warming to the subject, “while we’re there, we can take a closer look at his workspace. See if there’s anything out of place, or maybe find some evidence that shows he isolated and amplified the virus. Once we have that, we’ll have grounds for an actual case against him.”

  “Do you really think he has a big flask labeled ‘virus’ just sitting on his desk?”

  Avery ignored his sarcasm. “There are a lot of subtle signs we can look for. Lots of empty supply bottles in the trash. An incubator with a ‘do not use’ sign on the door. Even the smell of the lab can reveal if there’s stuff being grown in the room.”

  Grant considered her points. She made a good case; they really did need more than theory to prove Paul’s guilt in all this. Without solid evidence, Grant would have a hard time convincing the base commander and the US marshal that Paul needed to be arrested, which would give the man more time to cover his tracks.

  But they needed to move quickly. The seasons were changing, and the base was gearing up for the mass exodus of researchers that occurred every winter. Paul would undoubtedly be one of the people leaving in the next few weeks to go back to the States, so unless they could pin this on him before Avery’s departure tomorrow, he was going to get away with murder.

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m sorry?” Avery held her hand up to her ear and leaned forward, blinking innocently. “I couldn’t quite hear you. What did you say?”

  Grant resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “You’re better than this,” he said, mildly exasperated.

  Her grin was pure amusement. “Not today. Now, you were saying?”

  He sighed, smiling despite the residual fog of his earlier anger. She’d always had that effect on him—he never could seem to hold on to a bad mood when Avery was around. It was just one of the many reasons why he loved her. “I believe I said you were right.”

  “I’m glad you realized it,” she replied, straightening with a nod. Her gaze was questioning as she searched his face. “In all seriousness, though, are you ready to do this?”

  “Yes. Don’t I look ready?”

  Avery tilted her head to the side. “To be honest, you still look angry. You’ve calmed down a lot, but I need to know that seeing Paul won’t push you over the edge.”

  “They tried to kill you,” he reminded her, heat creeping back into his voice. Why wasn’t she more upset by that fact?

  Maybe the experience had been easier on her, he mused. Sure, she’d been the one to struggle through the illness firsthand, and she’d felt the brush of death as it winged by. But it was one thing to be sick yourself and quite another to have to watch the ones you loved suffer, knowing there was nothing you could do to save them. He had so much knowledge and skill, and yet he still hadn’t been able to spare Avery the pain of sickness. The fact that she had survived was likely due to a combination of luck and her sheer determination; he certainly didn’t have the power to decide who lived and who died.

  But he did have the power to bring her would-be murderers to justice. Determination filled him, pushing aside his petty need for immediate gratification. He took a deep breath, trying to erase the emotions from his face.

  “You should probably be the one to ask him questions,” he said after a moment. “It would be less suspicious that way, since you’re still investigating the outbreak.”

  Avery nodded. “That sounds reasonable to me. Are you ready?”

  Grant looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, the woman he’d already lost once and come so close to losing again. He was most definitely ready, for so many things—ready to find a new job in a nice, normal location, ready to put this outbreak behind him, ready to settle down, with her.

  Ready to start their life together.

  But rather than say all that, he merely nodded and stuck out his hand. Avery slipped her hand in his, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her touch made his heart sing and banked the fires of his anger. He focused on the fee
l of her skin against his, and turned his mind to the task ahead. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he knew one way or another, they would find the answers they sought.

  Together.

  *

  He was almost finished—just a few steps left and then it would be ready.

  Moving carefully, Paul poured the last of the liquid from the flask into the thermos Jesse had given him. The nurse had instructed him to use this as the transport container for the virus, and Paul hadn’t bothered to argue with the man. He just wanted this whole thing to be over with; the sooner, the better.

  The last drop slid into the thermos, and he screwed the cap on, his hands shaking only a little. Then he exhaled and slumped against the table, the metal cold against his palms.

  Nothing was going according to plan. As if there had even been a plan in the first place! Still, he could say objectively and decisively that his life had fallen apart. Even when he’d tried to do the right thing, it had blown up in his face.

  The FBI hadn’t believed him. He’d spelled it all out for them, right down to the details of his project for the Organization. But it hadn’t mattered; they’d treated him like a crank call, like some nutty conspiracy theorist who couldn’t be trusted. He couldn’t really blame them—no one knew about the Organization. Paul didn’t even know the real name of the group. And his rising panic over the fate of Noah hadn’t exactly made him coherent.

  Recognizing defeat, he’d hung up, taken a few deep breaths and called the local police to report his son missing. But that conversation hadn’t gone much better. They refused to file a missing person’s report on the basis of a phone call, especially once they found out he was thousands of miles away.

  At that point, Paul had given up. All the fight had left his body and he’d fallen to the floor, the phone forgotten in his hand. He had failed, in every aspect of his life. For the first time, he was actually glad Carol was dead so she couldn’t see how badly he had screwed things up. And not just his life, but the kids’, as well...

  He shuddered, recalling the heavy sense of finality that had stolen over him as he sat on the tile, the chill seeping through his clothes and into his bones. The room had been silent except for the drone of the dial tone from the disconnected call, the sound harsh and unforgiving as it rattled around in his brain.

  He was out of moves. The Organization had beaten him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  For a brief, desperate moment, he’d considered sabotaging the project. Why should he continue to work for them when they had so thoroughly wrecked his life? But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when Lisa’s fate was still undecided. Bad enough he had lost Noah—he couldn’t sign his daughter’s death warrant, as well.

  Suicide had beckoned, a siren’s call that even now he found hard to resist. It was so tempting to surrender, to end the worry and despair and absolute sense of defeat that plagued his every breath. It would probably be better for his family; the Organization would lose interest in Lisa and his mother if they could no longer use them as leverage.

  The only thing stopping him was fear. Despite everything, he was still too much of a coward to take his own life. At least not until he knew for sure that Lisa would be safe. And the only way to do that was to complete the job at hand.

  He glanced at his watch. Jesse was running late—where was he? The man had been maddeningly difficult to get a hold of over the past few days, and this plan of his had too many loose ends for Paul’s liking. He still wasn’t sure how they were going to smuggle the virus onto the ship; it wasn’t like they could just waltz on board without attracting notice. No matter how subtle they tried to be, the crew would likely notice them wandering about in search of the agreed-upon hiding spot.

  Unless the crew was in on it, too, he thought sourly. Nothing would surprise him at this point. The small, logical part remaining in his brain recognized he was being paranoid, but that didn’t mean he was wrong...

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, coming closer. That would be Jesse. Finally.

  He waited until the footsteps stopped and he sensed someone behind him in the doorway. “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” said a woman’s voice. “I didn’t know we had an appointment.”

  Paul’s stomach twisted and he closed his eyes, cursing silently. What the hell was she doing here? And how could he get rid of her quickly?

  He took a deep breath, hoping his thoughts didn’t show on his face. “We don’t,” he said, turning to face Dr. Thatcher. His heart rate spiked when he saw she wasn’t alone. Dr. Jones was with her, his expression unreadable. Paul turned his attention back to her and offered up a smile. “I’m sorry—I was expecting someone else.”

  “Ah.” She stepped into the lab, trailed by Dr. Jones, and Paul felt his body tense. He didn’t know why they were here, but he needed them to leave before Jesse arrived. He didn’t have a good excuse for meeting the other man, and it would only trigger the doctors’ suspicions if they saw them together.

  “We won’t stay long,” she continued. “I just had a few follow-up questions for my investigation.” She glanced around the lab as she walked, her gaze flicking from one spot to another as if she was searching for something. Trying to keep his movements casual, Paul shifted so his body blocked her view of the thermos on the counter and the empty flask sitting next to it.

  “How can I help?” Hopefully, he could take care of this issue quickly and dispatch the both of them.

  She came to a stop in front of him, Dr. Jones trailing in her wake. They were an interesting team—while she hadn’t stopped looking around since entering the room, Paul noticed Dr. Jones had kept his gaze fixed on him the whole time. The man’s stare was probing and intense, and Paul fought the urge to squirm. Had he noticed Paul’s attempt to hide the flask and thermos with his body? Was he going to say anything, or just stand there in silent judgment?

  “I don’t know if you heard, but your blood samples tested negative for the virus.”

  He hadn’t actually been worried, but a wave of relief washed over him nonetheless. “That’s good, right?”

  She inclined her head in a small nod. “For you, yes. Unfortunately, it leaves me with more questions than answers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He struggled to keep the impatience out of his voice. Would she just get to the point already?

  Dr. Jones made a low, rumbling sound of disbelief, and Dr. Thatcher shot him a quelling look. There were clearly some undercurrents between them, and Paul felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. This visit was more than just a chance for her to ask him additional questions. Something bigger was going on here. But what?

  “Can you tell me a little more about your work?”

  Paul frowned. Had she made a connection between his research and the virus? Or was she merely fishing for information? “I’m part of a group that studies climate change,” he said. “Why do you want to know?”

  Dr. Thatcher shrugged. “Just curious. I’m trying to get a better idea of your potential exposures, see if they overlap with any of the disease victims.”

  Her answer made sense, and Paul relaxed a little. Either she was a good liar or she really didn’t suspect him of any wrongdoing. He slid a glance over to Dr. Jones, who was eyeing him as if he were something stuck on the bottom of his shoe. Paul quickly looked away and shifted slightly, wanting to get away from the man. But he couldn’t move without exposing the flask and thermos behind him, so he was just going to have to endure the man’s continued scrutiny.

  “What kind of experiments do you perform?” Dr. Thatcher’s question drew his attention away from Dr. Jones, and he blinked at her, trying to decide how to answer her question. Should he throw out a red herring to send her in another direction? It might be his best option. He was due to go home at the end of the week, so if he could find a way to shift her focus until then, he might be able to get away...

  “I’m responsible for analyzing ice core samples,” he said. “I
look for trapped gases and other evidence of prehistoric climates, and I track how those parameters change over time.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Sounds fascinating,” she said. “Do you collect the samples, as well?”

  He shook his head. “No. I just stay in the lab. We have some field workers who do the actual drilling. In fact,” he said, inspiration striking like a bolt of lightning, “I should really put you in touch with one of the guys. His name is Tex and I think he might be able to help you with your investigation.”

  “Oh, really?” She leaned forward, sounding interested. “How is that?”

  “Well...” Paul glanced around, pretending to be worried about eavesdroppers. “He has a, uh, relationship with one of the women who works at the bar. She’s married, so they’re trying to be discreet about it, but this place is too small for secrets. Anyway, he told me the other day that Suzy—that’s his lady friend—she said she saw someone fiddling with a tray of drinks before they were served.” He raised his brow, as if to emphasize the importance of this revelation. “Maybe that’s how people are getting infected.”

  Dr. Thatcher nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a possibility. I’ll definitely want to talk to Tex and Suzy. In the meantime, can you tell me if you have any microbiology experience?”

  Her question was unexpected, and Paul’s stomach did a little flip. Even though her pleasant demeanor hadn’t changed since she’d walked in the door, Paul began to suspect Dr. Thatcher was asking him questions not because she didn’t know the answers, but because she wanted to see his reaction.

  “Uh, no,” he lied. “Not really.”

  “Mmm.” She nodded again, then tilted her head to the side. “Tell me, then, why does it smell like you’ve been growing cells in here? And why is there an empty flask behind your back?”

  “Excellent questions, Doctor,” said a voice from the doorway. “But I’m afraid you don’t need to know the answers.”

  Paul glanced over, relieved to see Jesse had finally arrived. But the emotion curdled in his gut when he saw the snub-nosed pistol in the man’s hand and the sick, triumphant smile on his face.